Whisper
by Dragonanzar
Summary: Aziraphale is damned for his actions during the apocalypse. Tormented by his new existence, he has a choice to make.


The song, if you don't recognise it, is 'Whisper' by Evanescence. I really enjoyed writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it. Note, it's not exactly Crowley/Aziraphale, though you could take it as that. It's either pre-slash or just hurt/comfort. Read a relationship into it as you will.

Whisper

Fall. Fallen. Aziraphale heard the words reverberating around his skull, but he couldn't believe them. Michael looked at the 'renegade' angel, his face mercilessly righteous. Its expression was as warm as those statues which the renaissance sculptors had once carved.

"I, Michael, hand of God, hereby strip Aziraphale of his angelic powers and cast him out of Heaven forever. By the will of the Almighty, so be it." In a flash of light, Michael disappeared and Aziraphale felt a gut-wrenching force rip through him. Its power was felt more in his essence than the human shell he wore, but that didn't stop the human reaction of vomiting from taking over.

His knees week, Aziraphale ended up supporting himself with his hands in order not to fall in the puddle he kept adding to as he retched. When his stomach stopped clenching, he pushed himself to his knees, unable to stand further, and with a thought summoned his phone. There was one person he _needed_.

_Whisper_

Ring. Ring.

Ring. Ring.

Ring. Ring.

Grumble. Curse.

Ring. "Where is that blessed thing?" Ring

Ring. Beep

"Disembowelment will follow very shortly if this is not about a fast approaching apocalypse, or something equally serious," snapped an irritated demon into his phone.

"Crowley…"

"Angel, look, it's four heavenly am! Couldn't you at least wait for the sun to peek over the horizon?" Crowley hissed, his eyes flashing a bright yellow.

"Crowley, please…" About to snap at Aziraphale again, Crowley hesitated. There was something in the angel's voice. Something…vulnerable. In the long years of their arrangement, Crowley had witnessed Aziraphale angry, sad, happy, smug, self-righteous, concerned and even occasionally mischievous. He had never, however, seen Aziraphale vulnerable*. It just wasn't done. They were enemies, after all.

"What?" he said instead of his sarcastic rejoinder.

"Could you…could you come over here?" Crowley frowned.

"What, now?"

"Yes. I…that is…just come, please." Now starting to get a bit worried from the uncharacteristic conversation, Crowley demanded more details. Aziraphale, however, wasn't willing to disclose more. "It's better for you to see it," was all he would say.

As soon as the conversation had ended, Crowley was leaping out of bed, materialising a suit as he dashed to the door, blasphemed a bit when he found he'd locked the door and forgotten where he'd put the key, remembered he was a demon and unlocked it with occult means, half tripped and half tumbled down the stairs, threw himself into his Bentley and then drove off as if…well, as if all the demons in Hell were after him.

_Catch me as I fall_

When Crowley got to the bookshop, he wondered for a moment if he'd got the wrong place. Every window was dark, though the door was unlocked. Darkness didn't bother Crowley, he was a demon after all, but he knew Aziraphale preferred the light. Nevertheless, he went inside to see if the angel was there.

Aziraphale was waiting in the back room. He saw Crowley's outline walk in and knew the demon could see him. Rising and abandoning all reason, he threw himself at Crowley. The demon, taken by surprise, automatically lifted his arms to protect himself. A moment later, they were filled with a shaking Aziraphale.

"Angel, what the Heaven?" Crowley spluttered. He got no further as Aziraphale, at the word 'angel', ripped himself away and unfurled his wings.

"Look!" he verily hissed, sounding a bit too similar to a demon for Crowley's comfort. Crowley looked. And saw nothing. And looked. And then realised what the issue was.

"Your wings…" he trailed off. That was the issue. He couldn't see them. Well, he almost could. He could see the outline. But where there should be glowing white feathers, there was nothing. With a thought, he turned on the light. Aziraphale cringed and Crowley saw the pitch black plumage with no difficulty. "Aziraphale," he whispered, shocked.

_Say you're here and it's all over now_

Hands clutched around a hot cup of tea and wings drooping forlornly behind him, Aziraphale told Crowley what had happened.

"I thought I was doing alright. Keeping the balance and so on. Then, Michael appears in my kitchen and tells me I haven't been keeping my mind on the job! He said that eyes Up There had been watching for a while, but my actions during the apocalypse-that-never-happened were the final straws." He hunched over further into his miserable position. "I don't know what I did wrong!" he cried out despairingly. "OK, I covered for you a couple of times, as you did for me, but it's not as though I was actively trying to make Evil come out on top. Yes, I did my best to avoid the apocalypse, but I don't see what's so bad about that! I just…I just…." He sniffed and materialised a handkerchief to blow his nose and wipe his eyes.

Crowley, feeling awkward, patted him on the back and said a vague 'there, there'. It didn't seem to help and he felt highly embarrassed at actually trying to offer comfort**. In the end, he sat back and let Aziraphale get on with it. When the tears had stemmed for a brief period, he tried to offer some sort of reassurance.

"Look, being a demon's not that bad. I should know. With any luck, you'll even be allowed to stay here on Earth. If not, well, Hell's…uh…Hell, but from the way I remember it, Heaven's not all it's cracked up to be anyway." That didn't seem to help and Aziraphale dissolved again into wet misery leaving a very discomforted demon not sure where to look.

_Speaking to the atmosphere_

The rest of that night, Crowley insisted on following Aziraphale to his flat, manifesting a bed and sleeping in the lounge. Aziraphale knew he should be feeling grateful for the demon's kindness, but couldn't dredge it up.

After an hour of lying in his bed, sleeplessly looking at the ceiling, he couldn't take it any longer. He crept out of the flat, tiptoeing past the snoring demon*** and going into the little garden he shared with the rest of the flats. He looked up at the coldly blinking stars and imagined he was in the metaphysical Up There.

"Lord, why?" The pleaded question fell from his lips almost without his permission. "Please, tell me why! What did I do wrong? Lord, oh Lord, why have you forsaken me?"

_No one's here and I fall into myself_

No answer. He hadn't really expected anything different: why should he when even as an angel, he had rarely heard the voice of God? But he had hoped….

_This truth drives me_

The truth hit home then, more than it had already. He was a demon, forsaken by God, judged as unworthy. Unable to ever enter Heaven's gates again. Evil. Disgusting. Revolting. Unbearable. Loathsome. Iniquitous. Damned. Depraved. Vicious. Vile.

_Into madness_

The insults echoed in his head, a symphony of repugnance and abhorrence that he had heard from other angels when talking about demons. He didn't think he moved, but a moment later he realised he was crouched on the ground, hands clutching his head as if to protect it, or to stop it exploding. He tore them away and found them clutching around his waist.

He felt something in one of his pockets. With shaking hands he drew it out.

_I know I can stop the pain_

In the small bottle was about twenty-five centilitres of Holy Water which he had only blessed a few weeks ago when he was preparing for the apocalypse. Lifting it to eye level slowly, he considered it as if in a dream.

_If I will it all away_

Guaranteed for permanently destructive effects on demons, the little flask held one of the few substances which could send him into nothingness. Slowly, feeling as though his limbs were made of lead, he unscrewed the top.

_Don't turn away_

_(Don't give in to the pain)_

Suddenly, just as he was closing his eyes in preparation for sending the corrosive substance splashing all over him, a warm hand clasped around his wrist, halting his movements.

"Angel, don't do this," a soft voice pleaded. Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked at the demon crouched in front of him, stopping his suicide.

"I'm not an angel, anymore," he choked out. Crowley smiled at him sadly.

"You'll always be an angel to me." Aziraphale bit his lip and turned his face away from the demon's searching glance.

_Don't try to hide_

_(Though they're screaming your name)_

A hand took the bottle of Holy Water out of his lax grip and put it carefully to one side. The hand around his wrist then let go and suddenly both were cradling his chin and pulling his head around to meet Crowley's gaze once more. In those yellow orbs was the flicker of Hellfire and something pleading. Unable to stand it, Aziraphale closed his eyes.

_Don't close your eyes_

_(God knows what lies behind them)_

A moment later, they flew open again. Aziraphale looked at Crowley in shock.

"Is that normal?"

"What?"

"Seeing…seeing fire and tortured souls every time you close your eyes?"

"Oh, that," Crowley dismissed. "You get used to it. One tortured soul's much like another and the fire can even be soothing if you're in the mood." Aziraphale couldn't help staring at him but Crowley just shrugged.

_Don't turn out the light_

_(Never sleep never die)_

Back inside, the Holy Water confiscated, Crowley announced he couldn't trust Aziraphale to not find some other way of committing suicide in his bedroom and would therefore be sleeping in the same bed. Unable to argue and not really in the mood to do so, Aziraphale soon found himself being treated as a teddy bear by a once-more snoring demon****.

_I'm frightened by what I see_

The world was made anew in Aziraphale's eyes over the next few days. The things that he had always automatically done suddenly had unexpected results. Once, he saw an old lady about to cross the road. He sent out a tendril of power, intending for someone to come to her aid or the cars to stop for her as would have happened before. Instead, she started walking just as a particularly fast driver came and was driven into at forty miles an hour+.

_But somehow I know_

_That there's much more to come_

It kept happening. He tried to encourage one woman to give up her cigarettes: a week later she went through a stress breakdown and attacked her boss. He came across a gang of teenagers sharing alcohol around in the park and tried to get them to put their litter in the bin. Instead, they had invented a new competition where they threw their bottles at the bin, most of the time hitting either each other, passers by or things which made the bottles explode and send dangerous glass fragments everywhere.

_Immobilized by my fear_

After multiple examples of good intentions going wrong, Aziraphale gave up and stopped using his powers.

_And soon to be_

_Blinded by tears_

Unfortunately, that wasn't enough as just his presence seemed to cause negative incidents.

_I can stop the pain_

Time and time again he thought back to the Holy Water.

_If I will it all away_

Passing a church, he slowed and wavered, pulled by a sudden urge to bathe his head in the font. Just as he was stepping towards the entrance, his phone rang. Crowley was the identified number. His finger hovered over the buttons for a moment, but in the end he pressed the 'end call' button and tucked the phone back in his pocket.

_Don't turn away_

_(Don't give in to the pain)_

"Angel, don't do this." Crowley's pleading expression swam into his view as he took a second step towards the church. He was in through the outer gates.

_Don't try to hide_

_(Though they're screaming your name)_

"You'll always be an angel to me." Crowley's soft tones sounded so real, Aziraphale almost had to check the demon wasn't there next to him. Aziraphale dismissed it: he was no angel. Not anymore. All he could do was cause harm.

He was halfway down the path leading to the church doors.

_Don't close your eyes_

_(God knows what lies behind them)_

"You get used to it." How was that supposed to be comforting? He didn't want to get used to it! Sure, he hadn't liked certain parts of being an angel: the lack of chocolate, wine or non-spiritual books in Heaven certainly didn't make him want to live there, but that didn't mean he wanted to be fallen!

He entered the church door into the silent and cold interior. He shivered.

_Don't turn out the light_

_(Never sleep never die)_

The light from the stained glass windows seemed to highlight the thing that had brought him here. The font shone, the water inside it like a mirror reflecting the sun. Aziraphale found himself drawn inexorably forwards until he could touch the surface if he wished to.

_Fallen angels at my feet_

Crowley paced in Aziraphale's bookshop. The angel was late. He was never late. He had always considered it bad manners to be late. Crowley rang the angel's phone but was disconnected before it had even rung properly.

_Whispered voices at my ear_

Trying to recall where Aziraphale had been coming from, Crowley's eyes widened. There was a church on that route! Taking off at a run, he hoped his suspicions weren't true.

_Death before my eyes_

Aziraphale couldn't stop gazing at the mirror-like surface of the font water. He could see himself, see the slightly pudgy, almost handsome features of his human shell++. There was no outward difference between his reflection now and the way he had been two weeks ago. Not unless he decided to unfurl his wings. Which he wasn't going to do. Unless… If he was to die, perhaps he should go out in his true form. But then, what was his true form, now?

_Lying next to me I fear_

Crowley sprinted along the road, skidding to a stop outside the church. Looking through the gates, he was discomforted to realise that Death was sitting on his horse. Well, he was and he wasn't. He was a lot more transparent than usual, as if he was waiting to see whether he was needed.

_She beckons me_

Aziraphale could almost see Death hovering behind him in the mirror. Almost without command, his hand rose and started reaching very slowly towards the pool of Holy Water.

_Shall I give in_

Crowley paused on the threshold of the church. He could see Aziraphale had almost dipped his hand in the Holy Water and the demon's skin shuddered as his imagination conjured up memories of seeing a demon splashed with Holy Water+++. About to call out, he hesitated. If Aziraphale really wanted to commit suicide, what business was it of Crowley? Besides, as a demon, he shouldn't feel anything like loyalty, sympathy, empathy or concern. About to turn away and get out of the church which made his skin itch, he paused.

_Upon my end shall I begin_

One way or another, Aziraphale decided, this would be then end of Aziraphale, the angel. He realised that this was a climax moment: he would either decide to dip his hand in the water and condemn himself to death, or he would decide to live damned.

_Forsaking all I've fallen for_

As Aziraphale's hand continued its descent, Crowley found he couldn't move away. He found he couldn't treat the situation with the detachment and contempt that he should. This angel had been, well, if not a friend, certainly a frenemy for too long for the demon to stand by and watch him commit suicide.

_I rise to meet the end_

A warm hand landed on Aziraphale's shoulder and he turned his head slightly to see Crowley looking at him.

"I suppose you've come to stop me," he asked wearily. He was thereby taken by surprise when Crowley just smiled weakly and shook his head.

"Your choice is your choice. I just wanted to be here while you make it." Aziraphale examined the demon's expression and then turned to consider the water that flashed at him with the sun's light. Death or Damnation?

He turned his head back to Crowley and smiled, moving one hand to briefly touch the one Crowley was resting on the edge of the font and then moving it away. He took a deep breath.

_Servatis a periculum [save us from danger]._

_Servatis a maleficum [save us from evil]._

End

Ye Footnotes of Doome

*Unless you count dead drunk as vulnerable. But then, as an angel and demon, being drunk was only an issue if they wanted it to be.

**As a way of covering up these undemonic feelings, he made all the electronics in the houses around go on the frizz. The next morning, most of the residents in a fifty metre radius would wake to find their freezers defrosted, their fridges warm and their coffeemakers dead.

***Crowley had on several occasions heartily denied that he could do anything so plebeian as _snore_. Demons don't snore, he had said indignantly. Unfortunately, with human bodies came human reflexes, but his houseplants had never got up the courage to inform him of that fact.

****If questioned on his tendency to snuggle, Crowley would firmly declare that he was only trying to make sure the newly fallen angel was unable to do anything stupid. His houseplants, however, (if they ever had the courage to divulge sensitive information) would be able to inform the questioner that Crowley did, indeed, have a teddy bear called Mr Hiss. He guiltily manifested it just before bed and then de-manifested it just after he woke up in order that no one would find it in his room.

+It was a built up area so the limit was 30mph. Of course, the driver then went on to be convicted of manslaughter and went to prison. There, he picked up a drug habit and when he came out, started committing more crimes to fund his new addiction. Hell would have been pleased if they had been paying any attention.

++That had always been a bone of contention between Aziraphale and Crowley: the demon could never grasp why the angel _wanted_ a body that wasn't fit and handsome and whenever he asked, Aziraphale just gave him an infuriatingly knowing look.

+++Ligur wasn't the only one Crowley had seen be erased this way. It was one sight he never wanted repeated, but that unfortunately did so with almost alarming regularity, that is, once every millennium or so.

A/N I've left the ending ambiguous for a reason. You can take it to mean that he decided to stay alive and with Crowley, or that he was saying goodbye and flicked Holy Water all over himself. Actually, It would be quite nice if you could tell me which way you took it. I'm quite curious to see how many people would prefer Aziraphale alive, but a demon, or dead, still almost an angel.

Thanks for reading and special thanks to those who will review.


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